Backlash
Also by Lynda La Plante
Blood Line
Blind Fury
Silent Scream
Deadly Intent
Clean Cut
The Red Dahlia
Above Suspicion
The Legacy
The Talisman
Bella Mafia
Entwined
Cold Shoulder
Cold Blood
Cold Heart
Sleeping Cruelty
Royal Flush
The Little One: Quick Read 2011
Prime Suspect
Seekers
She’s Out
The Governor
The Governor II
Trial and Retribution
Trial and Retribution II
Trial and Retribution III
Trial and Retribution IV
Trial and Retribution V
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2012
A CBS COMPANY
Copyright © Lynda La Plante, 2012
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc.
All rights reserved.
The right of Lynda La Plante to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act,
1988.
Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
1st Floor
222 Gray’s Inn Road
London WC1X 8HB
Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney
Simon & Schuster India, New Delhi
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Hardback ISBN 978-0-85720-183-6
Trade Paperback ISBN 978-0-85720-184-3
Ebook ISBN 978-0-85720-185-0
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Typeset in Bembo by M Rules
Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
To the memory of George Ryan
Sometimes in life you are fortunate to meet someone who has a special energy. George was a young woman when she joined my company. She became an
important part of my life at probably the most important time. I was so proud of her achievements, and to see her marry Glenn and become mother to two wonderful children – Felix and Isobella
– was a joyous time. George was vibrant and loving and leaves everyone who had the fortune to know her sad and bewildered by her passing. This book is dedicated to her memory, and my
admiration for her burns bright.
Special thanks and gratitude go to all my team at La Plante Productions: Liz Thorburn, Richard Dobbs-Grove, Cass Sutherland, Sara Johnson, Karol Griffiths and Ellen Steers for
all their committed and valuable support.
Many thanks also go to Duncan Heath and Sue Rodgers at Independent Talent Agency and Stephen Ross, Dan Ross and Andrew Bennet-Smith at Ross, Bennet-Smith.
To the stars of the
Above Suspicion
series, Kelly Reilly and Ciarán Hinds, I give thanks for their dedication to the show and their strong portrayal of my characters.
My thanks for the constant encouragement from my literary agent, Gill Coleridge, and the team at Rogers, Coleridge & White.
The publication of this book would not have been possible without the hard work and support of Susan Opie and the team at Simon & Schuster: Ian Chapman, Suzanne Baboneau, Kerr MacRae, Nigel
Stoneman and Dawn Burnett; I am very happy to be working with such a terrific and creative group of people.
Chapter One
‘Q
uiet night so far, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, an’ we’ve still got seven hours to go before the shift finishes!’
The two uniformed officers in the night duty patrol car were chatting whilst driving past a council estate in East London, and all was quiet in the residential street, in contrast to the
numerous clubs, bars, restaurants and buzzing nightlife of Shoreditch, just down the road. And so the van bearing the logo
KIDDIES PARTY DATES
stood out as it failed to give way for a
pedestrian waiting at the zebra crossing.
‘Is he on another planet?’ said the officer driving.
‘Bit late for a kiddies’ party,’ his colleague joked. ‘Go pull him over, we’ve nothing better to do at the moment.’
As they drew closer the van driver began to accelerate away from them and suddenly, without indicating, took a sharp left down a side street.
‘He’s trying to avoid us. Turn the blues and twos on,’ said the officer at the wheel as he sped after the van and turned into the side street. ‘Where’s he
disappeared to? There’s no way he could have made it to the other end of the road without us seeing him.’
As the police car moved slowly down the street they saw the van parked up between two cars with its lights off. On their approach the driver ducked down, seemingly avoiding their headlights, and
the officers could clearly see the van’s logo silhouetted in the patrol car’s blue flashing light: a grinning clown’s face with balloons and decorations painted around it.
‘My kids would run a mile if they saw that bloody clown’s face,’ said the officer driving as he pulled up in the middle of the road.’ Gives me the creeps. I
wouldn’t hire them.’
He got out and walked casually towards the driver, shining his torch into the van, and tapped on the window, indicating for the man to open it. As the window was slowly lowered, the driver put
up a hand to shield his face.
‘Leave the keys in the ignition and step out of the vehicle, please.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’ve asked you to and you’re acting suspiciously.’
The driver suddenly grabbed the ignition keys and tried to start the van. The officer yanked open the door, pulled the man’s hand away from the keys and dragged him out of the vehicle
while his partner, seeing what was happening, hurried out of the patrol car to help.
‘Hands where I can see them.’
‘I was just having a rest. I’ve been working all afternoon.’
The officers quickly had the driver face down on the pavement with his hands cuffed behind his back while they patted him down, discovering a worn leather wallet, which contained a few
five-pound notes and a library card in the name of Henry Oates.
‘Just stay still, Mr Oates. Is that your name?’
‘Yeah, Henry Oates.’
Oates didn’t argue, but remained calm, as one officer pulled him up from the pavement and pressed him against the side of the van, while his partner returned to the patrol car to check on
its registration plates and the identity of its driver.
‘You’ve been working, you say?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you live round here?’
Oates straightened and half turned. The officer pushed him in the small of his back.
‘Just stay where you are. This shouldn’t take long.’
‘Christ.’
‘This your van, is it?’
‘It belongs to a friend. I just help him out.’
It turned out that the van was neither insured nor registered to Oates, and the MOT was out of date. The control room radio operator informed them that there had been a number
of overnight break-ins in the area, leading the two officers to suspect that Oates might be involved and could be using the vehicle to carry stolen property.
‘Why were you trying to avoid us?’ asked the police driver.
‘I wasn’t. I didn’t even see you. I’ve parked up here cos it’s near home.’
‘What’s in the back of the van?’
‘For fuck’s sake, just party gear, balloons, pumps and stuff like that,’ Oates replied, becoming noticeably more agitated as he tried to turn towards the officers.
‘So we won’t find any nicked gear then?’
‘No way,’ Oates said as he suddenly started to gasp for breath and mutter something inaudible as one officer started to walk to the rear of the van.
The officer opened the back door of the van and leaned forward with his torch then suddenly jumped back startled as a helium balloon with the grotesque clown’s face on it wafted almost
mockingly out of the van. Composing himself he continued his search, making out a number of cardboard boxes with something large wrapped in black bin liners between them.
The officer leaned in closer so he could reach the edge of the bin liner without getting into the van. He pulled at it gently, then gave it a hard yank, at which part of the bin liner came away
easily. The beam of his torch fell on what appeared to be matted blonde hair covered in wet blood. Cautiously he leaned further forward and pulled away more of the bin liner. Now he realized that
what he was looking at was a body – a woman’s body. Slowly he reached out and felt her neck for a pulse, but although she was still warm it was clear she was dead.
Easing himself from the van, he radioed for immediate backup, before turning back to his fellow officer and Oates.
‘Well, well, Henry,’ he said. ‘What sort of party have you been to tonight?’
During the journey to Hackney Police Station Oates stopped muttering, even appearing to accept his situation in a resigned, offhanded manner, and on arrival was booked in just
after midnight on Friday, 12 October 2012. He said that he was thirty-eight and had no permanent address because he was living rough. He was given a clean police-issue tracksuit to wear, then after
his DNA sample and fingerprints were taken Oates was allowed to speak with the duty solicitor on the phone, who advised him to say nothing and informed him that an Adan Kumar would attend the
station in the morning to represent him. Oates was then placed in a cell for the night. He asked for a cup of tea, but made no reference to why he had been arrested.
The next morning at 5 a.m., much to the annoyance of his wife, DCI Mike Lewis was awoken by the sound of his mobile vibrating on his bedside table.
‘Mike Lewis,’ he grunted into the phone.
‘Sorry to disturb you, sir, this is DC Roy Hunter from the murder squad. A woman’s body has been discovered in the back of a van over in Hackney and they’ve arrested a bloke
called Henry Oates.’
Mike sat up, and his wife moaned as he threw the duvet to one side.
‘What?’ Mike asked, still not fully awake.
‘DCS Hedges is heading up the investigation and he wants you in for a 7 a.m. handover briefing at Hackney Police Station.’
‘Gimme the address . . . no, the crime scene!’
He jotted down the address and leaned over to kiss his wife and give her his apologies, but she was fast asleep. Dressed and using his battery shaver he headed across the landing and peeked in
to see his twin boys, who were still asleep, before quietly heading down the stairs.
En route to the station Mike visited the scene, and was immediately taken to one side by the Crime Scene Manager, who told him that a handbag had been recovered containing
documents in the name of Justine Marks. The body was still in the back of the van as there were a lot of items around it that needed to be photographed then seized and bagged before she could be
removed and taken to the mortuary. The post mortem was to take place at 2 p.m. that afternoon.
Mike decided that he would carry out a short interview with Henry Oates beforehand. Paul Barolli would assist him in doing so, while DC Barbara Maddox and DC Joan Falkland,
with whom Mike had worked many times previously, set up the incident room at Hackney Police Station and obtained details of any next of kin for Justine Marks.
Mike Lewis and Paul Barolli entered the custody suite interview room. Oates was sitting on one side of the table with his legal representative, Adan Kumar, by his side. They
sat down opposite Oates and Kumar. Paul informed Oates that the interview would be recorded and leaned over to the DVD equipment attached to the wall and pressed the start button, causing the
recorder and two wall-mounted cameras in the room to light up. Mike introduced himself and Paul then cautioned Oates, telling him that he didn’t have to answer any questions but that anything
he did say might be given in evidence. Mike was about to commence his questioning when to his and Paul’s surprise Oates suddenly sat upright and then leaned across the table.
‘Right then, I may as well tell you what I already told my solicitor. Now where shall I start – or should I ask where you would like me to start?’ Oates enquired.
Mike was about to ask a question when Oates raised his hand, indicating to Mike to be quiet.
‘If you want me to tell you what happened then please don’t interrupt me.’